


Day 1 - Shopping for Gifts

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 25 Days of Fic-Mas (originally posted to tumblr) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, Pre-Slash, post-series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't figure out what to get Sherlock for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 1 - Shopping for Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I've never posted to AO3 before, so please bear with me...  
> Basically this is based on a series of Christmas-themed prompts on tumblr from @hudders-and-hiddles. Each one reads as a stand-alone unless otherwise indicated :)  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> p.s. none of this is Brit-picked or betaed. Please don't hate me.
> 
> UPDATE: this one now has a sequel! Please check out [Day 18: Mistletoe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5454395) :)

John isn’t actually sure how long he has been staring at the Christmas display in Harrods. But then again, he isn’t really looking, is he? He just knows he has to make this Christmas perfect, for Sherlock. And he has absolutely no idea what to do.

John is fully aware that their relationship was never simply a friendship. From the very beginning, the very first romantic candle that Angelo had placed on their table, he has known this.

Sure, Sherlock had shot him down the first time, but that was before they really knew each other. And then, they had barely had two years to get to know each other before Sherlock was torn away.

With Sherlock gone, John had felt destroyed. What had been worse was that his wounds seemed to be strictly internal; everyone else had seemed to think he would get over it, that he would be fine. They couldn’t see that this wasn’t just a struggle for breath. They couldn’t see that both his lungs were collapsed, that his heart was drowning in the blood, that his limbs were slowly dying. Like the soldier he was, he had forced himself forwards, past the thoughts that Sherlock’s death was his fault, and into Mary’s arms.

Mary had been like a bandage. She could hold everything in, but she would never be the open-heart surgery that he needed. He had convinced himself she could save him, but then… But then she had shot Sherlock, and he had seen her for what she really was: a cancer.

She had shot Sherlock. Sherlock, who, as it turns out, had not been dead. Who had apparently been scouring the world to find Moriarty’s people. Who had been beaten, tortured, and nearly killed, all to keep John safe. Who had done it all because he loved John.

So now, nearly a year after moving back into 221B, permanently, this time, John is at a loss. The past year has been full of almosts. Almost touches, almost kisses, almost I love you’s. John is tired of almosts. It’s Christmas day, Sherlock is at the morgue looking at the corpse Molly has gotten him for Christmas (polycystic kidneys, the size of nearly the entire abdominal cavity), and John still doesn’t know what to give him. What does one give to the man who has saved him? To the man that he has loved for 5 years? How can he communicate a million I love you’s, a million I’m sorry’s, a million I’ll never leave you again’s?

John is tired of almosts. He finally turns away from the garish Christmas display he has been staring at for over an hour, and goes to buy a single sprig of mistletoe.

He ties it over his armchair, then settles down to wait.


End file.
